The sound of laughter drew his attention, and he looked up to realize he’d walked much farther than he’d intended. Two figures were approaching along the waterline, an elderly woman and someone younger, their voices carrying clearly in the salt air.
“Gran,” the younger voice called, warm with affection and gentle concern, “you know you’re not supposed to be walking this far.”
“Oh, honey, just a few more steps and then we’ll turn around,” came the reply, and Holt’s world stopped turning.
That voice.He knew that voice better than his own heartbeat, had heard it in his dreams and memories for thirty-eightyears. It was older now, mellowed by time and experience, but unmistakably familiar.
Time seemed to slow as two figures rounded a small dune and came into full view. The younger woman was tall and graceful, with auburn hair, but it was the older woman beside her who made his breath catch in his throat.
June.
It was impossible, but there she was, walking on the same beach where he’d played as a child, looking exactly like the woman who’d haunted his thoughts since the moment he’d left their Cambridge apartment nearly four decades ago. Her hair was still dark brown, and there were fine lines around her eyes that spoke of laughter and sorrow in equal measure. But her posture, her profile, the way she moved, it was undeniably June.
“June?” Holt breathed, the name escaping him without conscious thought.
She looked up at the sound of his voice and stopped so abruptly that sand scattered around her feet. Her face went white as recognition dawned, and her eyes, those green eyes he’d never forgotten, went wide with shock.
“Holt?” June whispered, swaying slightly on her feet.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as they stood there staring at each other across twenty feet of sand and thirty-eight years of separation. Behind her, the young woman called out in alarm.
“Gran!”
June’s legs buckled, and without thinking about his stitches or his healing injuries, Holt lunged forward. Duchess began barking excitedly, joined by a deeper voice as a Dalmatianappeared from the dunes above them. But Holt barely registered the commotion as he caught June just before she hit the sand, her weight feeling familiar and strange in his arms after all these years.
9
HOLT
Ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through his ribs and the burning sensation in his thigh, Holt adjusted his grip on June and followed the young woman as she led them away from the beach. June felt lighter than he remembered, more fragile somehow, and he was acutely aware of every labored breath she took against his chest.
“This way,” the young woman said, then suddenly stopped. “Wait!” She looked awkward as she called out, “Blaze, come here, boy!”
A Dalmatian bounded toward them, and that’s when she spotted Duchess trailing behind Holt, panting from the excitement.
“Isn’t that Duchess?” she asked, pointing at the basset hound.
“What?” Holt was momentarily confused, his focus entirely on the unconscious woman in his arms.
“That’s Tyler’s dog, Duchess,” she said, pointing suspiciously. “Why do you have Duchess?”
“Oh, Tyler’s my grandson,” Holt said, shifting June’s weight as his injuries began to protest more loudly. “We need to get your...”
“Grandmother,” she finished. “I’m Grace, June’s my grandmother.”
“Hello, Grace,” Holt managed, though his breathing was becoming labored. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Holt, Tyler’s grandfather, but could we get your grandmother inside...”
His eyes dropped to June’s pale face, and Grace immediately understood.
“Oh, yes, this way,” Grace said, quickening her pace toward the large house perched on the edge of the sand dunes.
Holt barely noticed the architectural details of the sprawling beachfront home as Grace led him through sliding glass doors into a comfortable living room. He laid June gently on a cream-colored couch, careful not to jar her as he settled her against the cushions.
“Grace? Gran...” Another voice called from somewhere in the house, followed by running footsteps.
A younger girl burst into the room, her dark hair flying and her face flushed with concern. She skidded to a stop when she saw Holt standing beside the couch.
“Becky,” Grace started, reaching out to her sister. The younger girl immediately moved closer to Grace, eyeing Holt warily. “This is Tyler’s grandfather. Gran passed out on the beach.”
